


The Rise and Fall of Maira Wynde

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Come On Brooms, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluffy rough sex, Quidditch, Secret Identity, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Peeved when she overhears Ron blabbing to Lavender about how bad she was at flying, Hermione decides to matters into her own hands.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 27
Kudos: 118
Collections: Love Fest 2021, Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest





	The Rise and Fall of Maira Wynde

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaeOrabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/gifts).



> This was written for Love Fest 2021. Many thanks to FaeOrabel for the prompt and running through ideas. This was so fun to write.
> 
> This work is unbetad, and I apologise for any and all glaring errors.
> 
> #LF2021 #TeamVenus

Four moments stood out to Hermione Granger when it came to Viktor Krum. 

The first being when she saw him in the library, then she’d noticed his looks first—the broadness of his shoulders, the way a book seemed absurd and minuscule in his large hands, and the strong, sharp lines of his jaw. 

The second time was when he’d met her that summer in France, between years five and six; in those few weeks it was his voice that stuck out in her memory—it was deep and thundering, thick with his accent, and heavy with adoration for her.

The third time was Bill and Fleur’s wedding when his eyes seemed to haunt her; it was the sorrow in them, the pain that flashed when she danced with Ronald, and the sadness when she gave him a final glance over her shoulder before she apparated with the boys after the Ministry fell. 

The fourth time she saw him, he didn’t even know it was her looking at him. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so bad, to see him, to take him in, to feel the sudden weight of emotion, and for him to not even know that she was standing right there, shaking his hand. 

***

Feeling his familiar calloused hand in her own, she thought back to how in the hell she ended up here in the first place—how she’d come to stand before him, beginning a quidditch game, and disguised as Maira  Wynde.

Alone in her flat, tired from work, she replayed a conversation she had accidentally eavesdropped on earlier that day.

Ron's familiar voice was strained and low, “She’s not perfect, Lavender. Please just stop obsessing over her. There’s nothing between us.”

Lavender’s familiar voice hissing, “She is  _ too _ perfect! You probably can’t name a single thing she’s bad at. Little Miss Perfect. I don’t understand why the two of you spend so much time together. You broke up.”

“Lav, come on, love. We don’t. Our best friend, Harry, is married to my sister. Not to mention, we only worked together to defeat Voldemort. You just don’t stop talking to someone you slayed Voldemort with,” he attempted to laugh at the end, to make light of the situation.

Lavender huffed. Hermione imagined the woman: her arms were probably crossed, stamping her foot, and pouting like a child. Hermione rolled her eyes to herself, alone in the staff room. 

“You still haven’t named anything she’s bad at.” 

Ron sighed, “Flying. She’s shit at flying. Absolute rubbish. Which makes her atrocious at quidditch, too. There. That’s two things.” She could tell by Ron’s voice that he was feigning an all too large smile. 

Lavender scoffed, “That’s...who cares about flying? That’s...Gods, Ronnie, you are so frustrating. You just don’t get it.” 

Hermione made a gagging face at the nickname  _ Ronnie. _

“Fine, Lav. She was rubbish at...blow jobs. Terrible. Didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Just sorta spat on it and licked it like it was a vinegar lolly. Can we let it go now?” He sounded exasperated, but Lavender seemed appeased.

“Yes. Well, that makes sense. It doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate a cock like yours…” Then there was some giggling and their voices trailed off.

Hermione baulked. She was  _ not _ rubbish at blow jobs. Ronald was a damn liar. There were several times when they hadn’t even gotten to shagging because she’d been so good at them—he exploded on her chest or in her mouth like a boy who’d just learned the glory of wanking. She sighed and supposed that he had to do what he had to do.

At home, thinking on the conversation, she wasn’t at all bothered that he’d lied about her oral sex skills; she was bothered that he’d told Lavender she was bad at flying. She  _ was  _ bad at flying, but he didn’t have to go and tell her that. 

Lying in her bed, she made a decision: She was going to take flying lessons. For the longest time, she’d let the fact that she was bad at flying sink into the deep recesses of her brain, to ensure it wouldn’t bother her, but now she knew that those thoughts wouldn’t be so easily hidden. Instead, she'd Hermione Granger the fuck out of flying. 

Despite her hopes, it wasn't that easy. 

If there was something she deeply needed, deeply craved, it was being in control, and she simply couldn't see flying as anything but lack thereof. 

Her private flying instructor had several ideas up her sleeve to help Hermione with this, and as weeks turned into months, Hermione overcame her fear, learned to let go of control, and began flying exceptionally well.

She was fast. Extremely fast for a beginner. This led to in-depth discussions about quidditch, how she would make an excellent seeker, and once Hermione began to see the strategy, the meticulous routes and planning, she understood the hype. Sure, some probably didn't enjoy quidditch for the complex arithmetic qualities, but she did. And, this, this paired with her swift flying is what turned her into an outstanding player. 

When her instructor approached her with the idea of playing, filling in for a seeker who had been injured for the Harpies, she felt she couldn't refuse. It wouldn't be a full season. It wouldn't be this massive commitment. It would be a handful of games, along with practices a few times in the evenings and on Sunday mornings. 

Hermione had one condition, however. No one could know it was her. She didn't want to have to explain herself. She simply wanted to play, and the only way she could play,  _ really play _ , was having anonymity. 

The contract was written. The paper was signed. The disguise created. 

The first thing was to change her hair, her eye colour, the shape of her face—she went from wild curls to a sleek, soft, and short Pansy Parkinson black, her cinnamon and coffee brown eyes became a crystal blue, and her round face and nose became slender, more triangular. She glamoured over her freckles, the scars on her chest, and on her arm. 

She wasn't willing to risk changing the actual form of her body, whatever it was about her body now, even not categorically athletic, even a bit heavier than the average female seeker, it worked for her, and she liked that. She wanted her body to be seen as athletic and strong and not typical; she just didn't want her face seen. 

Standing in front of Viktor now, she had previously caught the snitch, winning the Harpies the past four games. She'd been interviewed, photographed, and fawned over, all very quickly. It was fun to be the centre of attention for something other than being part of The Golden Trio. For being this new person. 

Hermione knew it was temporary. It was just a season. She had her job at the Ministry which she really enjoyed. This...this brief stent as Maira Wynde was likely more therapeutic than anything else. 

She had been nervous, truly, stomach-churning, about to vomit into the turf nervous, for the first time knowing she'd see him again, have to play against him, have to touch him. 

The Seekers always shook hands at the beginning and end of games, and his hand was so familiar and so foreign at the same time. Distracted and in a pool of memories, the game began far too quickly for Hermione’s liking, and he was off, searching for the snitch. 

Initially, they flew very far apart— searching and peering. Each Seeker had a different strategy. The Seeker she played last game liked to be close to you the whole time, liked to be in the zone with you, but Viktor was, as he had always been when flying, distant and alone until absolutely necessary. 

Right as she spotted the snitch, she quickly manoeuvred her broom and shot downwards. She felt him behind her first, and as he flew beside her, both their arms outstretched, the snitch flitted away, leaving just their fingers to brush. Their eyes met, and Hermione saw in his eyes the same yearning she had all those years ago at the wedding; it seemed as if he was boring into her, seeing through all her charm work. 

Breaking contact quickly, she flew in the opposite direction, seeking out the golden ball once more. 

Finally, she saw it again, and she was relieved. She was unbelievably distracted and she needed to feel the warm thrust of victory when her fingers wrapped around the snitch, once again sending her team into victory. 

At the end of the game, after their team meeting, after their cheering, she went to shake hands with Viktor. Without hesitation, he took her hand in his and, while no one was watching, everyone loud and distracted, he pulled her swiftly towards him in one tug. 

His lips pressed to her ear he said, "I know who you are. You cannot fool me vith your charm vork, Her-my-knee." He made a point to slowly pronounce her name, and she felt a pang of arousal. Suddenly embarrassed and shocked by her own arousal, she immediately blamed the rush of winning, the excitement in the air. She blamed the familiar grasp of his hand, the heat of his words on her ear. She would blame anything to avoid admitting that she wanted him to keep her that close for hours to come.

She pulled back and searched his face, feigning ignorance, "I'm not sure what you're talking about. Mister… Krum, is it?"

He laughed and she felt blood rising in her cheeks and flooding her ears. 

"Ya. Das me. Ve should chat then, Miss… vhat vas your name again?"

"Maira Wynde."

"Das right. Yes. Yes. Miss Vynde. Vill you meet me in ze other locker room? I think there's something you have to show me." 

Hermione gulped. Her heart raced. Did she go? What if he exposed her identity? What could he possibly want? Was he mad she'd beaten him?

He left her standing there, staring at him, and moments later, excusing herself from her team, she followed Viktor into the spare locker room. 

Walking in, she saw him standing against the wall, healing cuts on his hands. When she entered he looked up and said, "Remove ze disguise."

She quirked an eyebrow, and he stepped away from the wall and towards her. He stood in front of her now, a breath away. Again, he commanded, "Remove ze disguise." 

Pooling with want, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, considering and asked, "How did you know?" 

"You don't love somevon for all deez years and not  _ see  _ them." 

She swallowed hard and before she could grab her wand he said, "This is not my Her-my-knee. Take it off. Show me you. It's veen too long." 

Pulling her wand from its holster on her thigh, she flicked her wrist and removed the charms. 

He groaned when he saw her, "There you are." 

He reached out and twirled a curl around his finger gently, letting it spring away as he let his hand fall. 

"You learn to play vell,” he said with a small smile.

She scoffed, "I didn't think I'd do well again you."

Shrugging his shoulders, he said coyly, "I vas a bit distracted. I vasn't my best."

"What was so distracting?" she asked curiously. 

He let his hands trace the outline of her body, almost touching her, "You kept your body, Her-my-knee. You lovely thighs and ass. I vas jealous of zat broom."

Hermione was certain they were running on steam from their match, the energy and adrenaline. Neither of them, after all this time, would normally be so overtly sexual without unpacking their time apart, but she wanted him, and she was going to ride out the euphoria of her win. 

Stepping towards him, her breasts lightly brushing against his chest she said, "Kiss me and I'll let you make my broom jealous."

He growled and dipped his head down to kiss her. Their lips met with force—something quite desperate and a touch angry, as if they were demanding answers from the other:

_ Why didn't you write?  _

_ Why did you leave with Weasley?  _

_ Why all those women?  _

_ Why didn't you write?Why didn't you write?Why didn't you write?  _

She ran her hands underneath his jersey top, feeling his muscular form, the hair of his chest. 

"Vinner calls ze shots," he chortled in a raspy voice against her neck, and she began to toy with the band of his tight shorts.

She nipped at his neck and replied, "This winner wants the loser to fuck her against a wall and do whatever else he wants."

He groaned and pulled her into his arms. "Brazen, Her-my-knee. Clothes. Gone." 

She stepped back and out of his embrace, staring at him, feeling confident and sure, she took off her shirt and sports bra, both damp, and then peeled off her skintight shorts, sticky with sweat. 

She knew she had to smell of sweat and must, and yet he didn't seem to care. He stepped towards her and picked her up before lying her on a bench. The coolness of the wood was shocking against her hot skin. 

"I thought I said I wanted you to fu— " and she stopped abruptly as his mouth pressed against her cunt. For a moment, just a moment, she thought of how much she had sweat with the broom between her legs, but, when he sucked her nub into his mouth before licking her slit, sliding his tongue inside her, she completely forgot and arched her back in bliss. 

He gripped onto her thighs hard and let his tongue fuck her until she came. Without a second to come off of it, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed her roughly up against the wall. She reached over and grabbed onto the door of a locker, clinging to it, waiting desperately for him to slam his cock into her. 

She opened her eyes and pleaded, "Please, Viktor."

His smile was mischievous, and he slid his cock, thick and full, into her. 

She had no idea how long he'd been fucking her when he started talking to her. "It vas your smile.” He thrust hard at the end of each sentence. "I knew it vas you." Another deep thrust. "I thought after all this time vhy is my Her-my-knee hiding from me? Vhy is she playing?"

He kissed her, whispering into her mouth, so tender in contrast to how hard and deep he was pushing into her, "You are still my Her-my-knee, no?"

She whimpered and nodded, "Merlin. Yes." 

"Good. I vant to come in you. I vant you to show me how vell you can ride zat broom, and I vant my come to be running down your thighs and onto it. I want to see it glistening on your broom. Ze one you beat me on."

She wanted to crumble in his arms right there, her body was ready to peak and collapse. 

His lips met her ear and he moved his hand around to flick her clit, "Can I?"

As his finger and thumb flicked against her clit she cried out, her hand gripping the metal locker, the other his shoulder and she said, "Yes! Please do." 

He quickened his place, and she began to talk him to completion. "I'm going to ride it, get it slick with your come, Viktor. Then I'm going to get off of it and lick it off. Taste us together on it. Fuck me harder. Fill me up." 

And with that, he buried his face against her chest and unravelled, leaving them both panting. She murmured contraceptive and protection charms, while he kissed the curve of her neck, the tender spot underneath her breast, and the ticklish spot on her rib cage that he seemed to remember. 

Later, they made love on the floor of the shower in his flat. He slowly moved inside her, whispering how much he missed her, how he belonged to her and always would,and she whispered over and over that he was hers and that she loved him and how much so. 

In bed, he asked what would happen to Maira Wynde, and she shrugged saying she was happy to just be Hermione again, nuzzling into his warmth. 

Silently she thanked Ron for blabbing to Lavender about how horrible she once was at flying, how incapable she was of understanding Quidditch, as it let her fall back into the arms of Viktor Krum.


End file.
